


Scorched Earth

by theicescholar



Category: Mob City
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7503703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theicescholar/pseuds/theicescholar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben never liked that suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scorched Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to KuriKoer for beta.

Ben’s tie is going to be crooked.

Ben is immaculate. Even when he gets messy, after fucking or losing his temper, he manages to look artfully rumpled.

The floor is hard beneath Sid’s palms as he stares disbelieving up at Ben.

His best friend is crumpled against the couch. His body is twisted awkwardly, one arm torqued unnaturally, the palm turned up as if in a backwards wave.

Sid keeps thinking, ‘Ben never liked that suit.’

It was a beautiful suit, but Ben never cared much for it. It was the closest Ben came to subtle: checked print.

It isn’t beautiful anymore.

Something is dripping, too loud in the comparable silence. Someone is breathing, panting almost.

It’s impossible. Sid would never let this happen. He takes care of Ben.

Blood. It’s Ben’s blood, that’s dripping.

That’s what makes it real, gets Sid off the floor and moving towards Ben.

Ben deserves more than this. Sid needs to wipe the blood off his face. He needs to do this last thing for his friend. Dignity was never Ben’s forte.  He was flashy charm, always the smooth talker.

He needs to straighten Ben’s tie.

Sid can’t leave him like this. To the cops and their cameras. They will be methodical and precise in dishonouring the body. Their cameras deciding that the last image of Ben Siegel will be a destroyed, empty thing.

Or worse, the press.

_Cameras too. The cause of all of my grief._

His face. Ben’s body pulped by bullets, beautiful suit stained with blood.

Even when they couldn’t afford anything nice, Ben always did his best to look sharp.

Sid stands empty handed.

“I'm not gonna just leave him like that!" Stax is in his way. That damned lawyer won’t let him near Ben, and he’s stronger than he looks.

Talking sense, talking reason, when there isn’t any reason to be found.  

Ned’s grip is tight on Sid’s shoulders, his voice is raised, but the words feel distant, watery.

“Terry get him out of here.”

That breaks through. Terry is there, another pair of hands, gripping him, holding him back. Sid is only looking at Ben.

The satchel is shoved into Sid’s hands.

“Dead or not, they never find these pictures. You understand?” Ned’s voice is angry and his words.

Dead--

“You understand?”

\--or not.

Sid looks at him.

Dead.

He’s letting Stax turn him, talk sense.

“Go,” low and guttural.

Sid is aware of everything, his feet on the pavement, the slam of the car door, the squeal of tires.

Sid holds the satchel and Terry drives.

“I never learned how to drive,” Sid says, suddenly.

“I know, Sid,” Terry replies, glancing at Sid. His voice is quiet.

Terry always drives. Or Ben.

_Or not._

Sid thinks of the empire they built: Ben and Sid and Meyer.

His thoughts become clear and hard, sharp enough to draw blood. Sid is making plans, making sense when there isn’t any.

Sid will destroy the evidence.

They will have seven days to run, seven sleepless nights to pray to empty silence. A mercy they don’t deserve, but Sid will honor Ben properly.

Then he will go out and burn it all down. Salt the earth with tears, stain it with more blood than this town has ever seen.

Sid will go out and find the man-or men-behind this: there will be nothing left of them but their name.

Sid doesn’t say anything for the rest of the car ride.


End file.
